


Made with Love

by MysticKitten42



Series: Winter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Early Bird 25 Days of Harry and Draco 2020, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death - Narcissa, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Second Person, Single Parent Draco Malfoy, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28051932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticKitten42/pseuds/MysticKitten42
Summary: After tragedy strikes, Draco finds support where he least expects it.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Winter [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2054841
Comments: 10
Kudos: 108
Collections: 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020





	Made with Love

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 25 Days of Harry and Draco 2020, Early Bird Prompt N: gingerbread cookies.
> 
> I promise not all my Christmas stories will be sad. This one is, but it’s served with a side of tenderness.

It doesn’t make any sense. You hear their voices, garbled, surrounding you, and you know they’re right next to you, on either side, but they sound so far away. The Weasel. Granger. They say it’s such a shame. So close to Christmas. That she was still so young. You know what Robards told you, that your mother is dead, Killing Curse to the chest, and that they have the perp in custody. But it doesn’t make any sense. You just had dinner with her last night. You’re supposed to meet her for tea this afternoon and go Christmas shopping together afterwards. None of this makes any sense.

Harry takes your hand, puts a protective arm around you and guides you to the Floo. You don’t know why he’s doing this. Harry is just a shag — a bloody fantastic shag — but nothing more. This is not a relationship; you both made that perfectly clear right at the start. When you call out your address, he stops you and takes you back to his, back to Grimmauld Place. But there are so many things you must do. People to notify. Arrangements to make. Lawyers to call. The funeral home. The list is endless. 

When your father died, Stori was with you. When she got sick and passed away, your mother was there through it all. But now. _Now_.

Now Harry’s guiding you up the stairs and into his bedroom. You’ve been here before, many times in fact, but under different circumstances. You tell him you have things to do, and that really, you’re all right, you just need to be on your way. He shushes you. His hands, his deft hands that have taken you apart so many times before, are gentle and careful as he slips off your clothing, mindfully draping it across a chair, and he dresses you in his favourite, cosiest pair of pyjamas. You don’t mind that they’re crimson and covered with snitches; they feel warm and comforting. They remind you of him. You shake the thought away and remember all the things that need doing, how you need to leave. He ignores you and tucks you into bed, makes you take your potions — one to calm your nerves, another to make you sleep. He kisses your forehead, gently, and you suddenly remember Scorpius. You need to pick him up. But sleep pulls you under before you can speak. The last thing you see is green.

The green follows you into your dreams. It’s supposed to be Dreamless Sleep, but you dream anyway. You look into green eyes and outstretch your hand, but it’s rejected. Pain. Sorrow. Endless frustration. Heat. Flames. You wrap your arms around him tightly. The scene shifts and everything is white. Peacocks roam the grounds. A wedding cake stacked high. Stori looks so beautiful and laughs as she shoves cake into your mouth. You laugh too. But walls form around you, grey stone, cold, hopeless. Your father, trapped within the walls, is soulless, his face gaunt, hollow, and it’s the last time you see him alive. The next is at his funeral, his body heavily glamoured so he looks like his former self. A pale hand rests in yours and feels like an anchor. The scene shifts again and you’re overjoyed. A small, pale-haired, rosy-cheeked bundle rests in her arms and you can’t believe how lucky you are. But it doesn’t last. Her smile fades, her pale, thin frame wastes away, and then there’s a bejewelled hand in yours keeping you afloat. Everything steadies, but then there’s more pain because you remember. Even in your dreams, you remember she’s gone. Then you remember the green eyes that stared into yours as sleep pulled you under.

You awaken. It’s dark out now. You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep, but your body feels better, more centred, grounded. For a moment, you forget where you are. You look around as confusion sets in, then clears, replaced with worry. _Scorpius_. You get out of bed and reach the door in three strides. When you enter the hallway, you freeze. You smell the delicious, spiced scent of holiday baking and hear laughter as it filters up from the kitchen — two voices. You’d know the sound of Scorpius’ laughter anywhere.

You stand in the kitchen doorway and take in the scene. Scorpius, dressed in his ducky pyjamas, sits on the kitchen worktop dipping his fingers into a bowl of icing. Harry throws his head back and laughs. His hair is a mess, and he’s wearing a ridiculous reindeer apron. You watch the reindeer’s nose blink on and off.

“Save some for the cookies,” he says, and Scorpius giggles. Then they spot you. Harry lifts him down and he runs to you. You gather him up in your arms and it feels so good to hold him, to know he’s safe and happy. You know you must tell him. But not just yet. Not right now.

“How did you – ” you begin, but Harry cuts you off, eager to reassure you.

“Robards knew what preschool the wee lad attends.” He ruffles Scorpius’ hair and smiles.

“And they just let you take him?” you ask, incredulous, and realise you may need to rethink your choice of preschool.

“I may have flashed my badge” — he’s blushing now — “and being the Saviour has its perks. Don’t worry, they gave me a magical signature test to make sure it really was me and not some Polyjuiced imposter.”

“Daddy, Harry made pasketti and I got to help bake the cookies.” Scorpius’ eyes twinkle. “Harry let me crack the eggs and stir and even cut out the shapes.” He bounces back over to the worktop, his excitement barely contained.

You look at Harry and he steps closer to you, whispers in your ear. “Don’t worry, everything’s done. Hermione’s notified all your family and friends. While you slept, I went to the funeral home and narrowed down your options. You can make the final decision when you’re ready. I haven’t told Scorp anything, but if you’d like I’ll be here when you do.”

You nod, and the next thing you know Scorpius is by your side and he’s tugging you by the sleeve, pulling you over to the worktop that’s covered in gingerbread men.

“Daddy, Daddy, try one,” he squeals and shoves a cookie into your hands before you can even answer. You take a bite and savour the rich, spiced, sweet molasses-y goodness.

“Do you like it?” Scorpius asks and looks up at you expectantly.

You glance over at Harry, who can’t take his eyes off you. You stare back, unspoken words filling the charged space between you. 

“It’s the best I’ve ever had,” you say.

Then you look back down at your son, who looks up at you, positively beaming. 

“Harry says that’s because they’re made with love.” 

**Author's Note:**

> The tumblr post for this fic is [here](https://mystickitten42.tumblr.com/post/637413319511293952/made-with-love).


End file.
